


Pep Rallies vs. Art Galleries

by eternaleponine



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Clexa Week 2018, F/F, Rivals in a Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 07:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13829553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternaleponine/pseuds/eternaleponine
Summary: Clexa Week 2018 - Day 5 - Rivals in a Secret RelationshipClarke and Lexa are teachers at the same school: Clarke is everyone's favorite art teacher, and Lexa teaches history, but is also the girls' soccer coach.  The athletics department always seems to get what it wants, and Clarke is determined to change that... but at what cost?





	Pep Rallies vs. Art Galleries

Maybe it was childish to slam the door and stomp her feet, but it _did_ have a tendency to not close all the way if you didn't force the issue, and there _was_ mud caked on her sneakers from standing on the field all afternoon. Mostly, though, she was just pissed off, and slamming and stomping was satisfying, if pointless in the grand scheme of things.

"Lexa?" 

"Who else would it be?"

Clarke peered around the wall that separated the kitchen from the entryway and smiled. "I made lasagna," she said. 

"I'm not—" Lexa started.

"And garlic bread," Clarke added. 

Lexa groaned. "Are you trying to fatten me up?"

"You need to carbo-load before the big game," Clarke said. 

"I'm not playing," Lexa pointed out. "I'm just coaching."

"I've seen the way you run up and down the sidelines," Clarke said. "You get as much of a workout as most of the players. More than some, probably. Anyway, you skipped out before breakfast and I know you forgot lunch. Just eat."

Lexa settled on one of the stools at the island that served as the center of their – well, Clarke's, technically – home, and accepted the plate that Clarke slid in front of her. "Thank you," she said. She pressed the edge of her fork down through the layers of noodle and sauce and cheese, carving off a precise square before bringing it to her mouth. 

The sound she made as flavor burst over her tongue was borderline embarrassing. Clarke smirked, filling her own plate and coming around to sit next to Lexa. 

"Don't think this gets you off the hook," Lexa said. "I'm still pissed."

Clarke's forehead furrowed, lines forming between her eyebrows. "What did I do?" she asked. 

"Whatever you said to the board convinced them that they should divert funding from the athletics budget to the arts budget," Lexa said. She clenched her jaw as Clarke's face split in a smile, waiting until it collapsed in on itself. 

"Wait," Clarke said. "You're angry at me about _that_?" 

"Yes, I'm angry at you about that," Lexa said. 

"But you agreed that the way that funds were allocated was unfair," Clarke said. "We talked about this. You encouraged me to—"

"Don't remind me," Lexa growled. "I was obviously under the influence, or got sucked into some alternate universe where I thought that things could actually be fair."

"Well, I _had_ just—" Clarke started, but stopped when Lexa jerked her hand, brushing the comment aside. "So you're going to throw a tantrum because we are finally getting money to expand the program and get the supplies we need, and you might have to... what? Cut back on the decorations for your end of season banquet?"

Lexa swallowed back what would almost certainly have come out as a growl, her blood boiling. History teacher by day, girls' soccer coach by... well, later in the day, she had thought that she would be able to keep the long-standing rivalry between the Athletics and Arts departments from bleeding into her relationship with everyone's favorite art teacher, Ms. Griffin. They were so good at keeping work and home separated that no one at school actually knew that they were dating, and had been for over a year. 

Comments like that, though... it was impossible not to take the bait. "One," she said, "I pay for that banquet out of my own pocket, and any donations that the parents of the players care to make. None of it is paid for by the school. At all. Two, because you want to be able to take your kids on field trips to museums, or offer a new basket-weaving elective, or whatever it is you want to do with that money, my girls are once again not getting the new uniforms that they were promised. Last year. And the year before that. And the year before that."

"They're just uniforms," Clarke said. 

"They're not _just_ uniforms," Lexa snapped. "They're a symbol of who we are and what we represent. The ones we have are old and uncomfortable. Half of them are ripped, or have numbers peeling off, or are otherwise falling apart. Other schools look at us and they see us for what we are: the unwanted stepchildren."

"Well how do you think the arts kids feel?" Clarke asked. "When was the last time that they got to show off their work? No one's having a pep rally for them!" She shook her head. "Anyway, it's not like what I asked for is going to completely bankrupt your program. It's practically a drop in the bucket compared to what you get overall."

"You're right there," Lexa said. "We do still have plenty of money: for the boys. But again, as usual, it's the girls who suffer."

"That's bullshit," Clarke said. 

"I'm well aware," Lexa said. "I should have known it would happen, though. Never mind the fact that we have a real shot at states this year and the boys haven't won a game yet." She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not angry at you, not really. I'm angry at the situation, and I'm taking it out on you, and that's not fair."

"No, it's not," Clarke agreed. "But it's not as if I haven't railed at you for things outside of your control, too." 

Lexa held out her arms, and Clarke slid off her stool and into them. Lexa rested her head against Clarke's chest, listening to the thud of her heartbeat, feeling the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. She burrowed her fingers under the back of her shirt, pressing them into the skin at the small of her back, and tilted her head to press a kiss to the hollow at the base of her throat. 

Clarke let go of a slow breath, her head tipping back, and Lexa took it as an invitation to cover the exposed skin with kisses. Her hands slid to Clarke's hips and then up her sides, discovering that underneath the old paint-stained button-down that was more smock than shirt she wasn't wearing anything else. 

"Dinner's going to get cold," Clarke pointed out with little conviction. 

"Let it," Lexa said, tracing the curve of Clarke's breasts, her thumbs grazing her nipples, the skin pebbling instantly under the touch. Lexa withdrew her hands, but only so that she could make short work of the buttons of the shirt, pushing it back to expose Clarke's chest and sucking first one breast, then the other, into her mouth, laving over the tightened bud with her tongue, her fingers dug into Clarke's hips to keep her from moving away. 

"Lexa..." she breathed. "Fuck..."

Lexa looked up at her and smirked. "If you insist," she said, wrapping her left arm around Clarke's waist, the other hand deftly unraveling the knot of the drawstring at her waist and weaving under the soft cotton material (under which she also wore nothing) and into the nest of curls between her legs. 

Clarke groaned, putting her arms around Lexa's shoulders, forcing Lexa to support some of her weight, her panting breath loud in Lexa's ear as she arched and writhed into Lexa's touch. Lexa turned her slightly so that her back was against the counter, giving herself a better angle as she glided her fingers over Clarke's clit, giving her just enough pressure to make her shudder before going deeper, burying two fingers into the heat of her and crooking them slightly. 

Clarke's breath caught and she rose on her toes before settling back down, pants and whimpers turning into guttural moans, and then climbing the register again as she got close, and then closer, and finally she came with a strangled curse, her entire body tightening and shuddering. Lexa kept her hand still until it had passed, knowing that even accidental contact would be too much when Clarke was in this state. Finally she slipped her hand free and drew Clarke into a long, deep kiss.

"I love you," she whispered. 

"I love you too," Clarke whispered back. 

Lexa smiled and kissed her again. "You can show me just how much after I've showered."

Clarke didn't wait for her to get out of the shower, she just climbed in with her, making sure that every part of Lexa was given the attention it deserved. One of these days, one of them was going to slip and fall, and they were going to end up the next case study on Sex Sent Me to the E.R., but until then... Lexa had no conclusive proof that the orgasms that she had while trying to stay upright under a stream of water with Clarke's fingers or tongue buried between her legs were more intense than the ones she had when they were in bed (or on the couch, or on the floor of Clarke's makeshift studio...), but it certainly _felt_ that way. 

Dinner ended up needing to be reheated, the salad somewhat soggy and wilted and the garlic bread a little dryer than it would have been if they'd eaten it fresh, but it was still delicious, and Lexa made sure that she told Clarke so as they cuddled together on the couch under the fleece throw that wasn't really big enough for two.

"Admit it," Clarke said. "Without me, you would starve."

"I wouldn't starve," Lexa said. "I would just spend a fortune in the prepared foods section of Whole Foods."

"On a teacher's salary?" Clarke raised her eyebrows. "Lucky you have me."

"I am," Lexa said. 

They were quiet for a while, half paying attention to some stupid sitcom rerun, but mostly lost in their own thoughts. Finally Clarke turned and looked at Lexa. "What can I do?" she asked. 

Lexa didn't have to ask her what she was talking about; she knew that the school's budgetary fuckery was weighing on Clarke's mind just as much as it was on her own. "Short of giving back the money—" she felt Clarke stiffen, start to pull away, and she smoothed a hand over her arm to try to bring her hackles back down, "—which I'm not asking you to do—I know how hard you fought for that, and frustration aside, I'm glad that you finally got it. How fierce you are when it comes to fighting for your kids, getting them what they need, and what they deserve... it's what makes you you, and one of the many reasons that I fell in love with you. But short of that... I don't know."

Clarke wrapped her arms over Lexa's. "We'll think of something," she said. "We always do."

* * *

Lexa woke up the next morning alone, jerking out of her sleepy pre-alarm daze (because somehow she always managed to wake up a few minutes before her alarm, no matter what time it was set for) when she reached for Clarke to draw her in for a few last minutes of closeness before they had to go back to pretending indifference (on good days, outright disdain on the bad ones) for each other. 

"Clarke?" She sat up, looking around, leaning forward to peer around the cracked open door to see if maybe the light was on in the bathroom. It wasn't, nor did she hear Clarke moving around elsewhere in the apartment. She got up, grabbing the robe that Clarke had insisted she needed and wrapping herself in it before stepping out of the bedroom. 

She saw a light under the door of the second bedroom, the one that Clarke had converted into an art studio. It was technically the master bedroom, half again as big as the one that Clarke lived in, but it got better light, Clarke said, and who was Lexa to argue? 

Lexa knocked, not wanting to disturb her while she was working. Sometimes she got secretive about things that she was working on, not wanting Lexa to see them until they were finished, and sometimes she was just in a groove, and getting pulled out of it by someone unexpectedly walking into the room would yank her out of it and leave her in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

Today, though, the door was yanked open almost before Lexa's knuckles hit the wood the second time. "You're up," Clarke said, pulling her into an enthusiastic kiss that left Lexa's heart tripping over itself. "I figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Lexa asked, blinking hard to clear the endorphin-induced haze from her mind.

Clarke grinned. "How we can have our art and uniforms too."

* * *

Lexa had to hand it to Clarke: it really was a brilliant idea. As she walked through the makeshift gallery that had been set up in the halls around the gym, she understood why Clarke had been so determined to get more for these kids, to give them every opportunity that she could. Not every work was a masterpiece, but many of them showed huge amounts of talent, and even the ones that paled in comparison showed potential. 

She sidled up to Clarke, careful to keep space between them even though seeing her all dressed up in a button-down shirt that strained across her chest if she breathed too deeply and a pair of slacks that hugged her hips made her want to do more than just accidentally brush against her. "This is amazing," she said softly. "How did you convince them?"

All of the pieces – many of them sports-themed – had been donated by the art students to be auctioned off, with the proceeds benefiting the girls' soccer team, to fund the new uniforms that they so desperately needed and had so long been denied. 

"The line between art geek and jock isn't as well-defined as you might think," Clarke said. "One of your star players is in my studio art class, although I'm not sure it was her first choice." Her lips curved in a smile. "I think her – ahem – best friend may have talked her into taking it." 

Lexa pressed her lips together to try to keep a straight face. She knew who Clarke was talking about, and what she was implying, and she was pretty sure she wasn't wrong. Not that it was any of their business, but teenage girls in love didn't tend to be nearly as subtle as they thought they were. 

"Also," Clarke continued, "if you drop the right words in the right ears... well, sometimes peer pressure isn't a bad thing. I have some very passionate students who aren't about to stand for inequality anywhere it might be found. Including the Athletics department." 

"Thank you," Lexa said. "When the team heard what your students were doing... they were pretty much speechless. And you know as well as I do how rare a thing that is."

Clarke grinned. "I do want to ask one favor," she said. 

"What's what?" Lexa asked. She was willing to give Clarke just about anything at this point, but she wasn't going to commit herself until she actually knew what she had in mind.

"If there's more money than you need for the uniforms, you use the extra for your banquet," Clarke said. 

"Only if your students promise to help decorate for it," Lexa said, quickly swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. 

"I don't think that will be a problem," Clarke said. 

"Then you've got yourself a deal." They shook on it, Lexa letting her grip on Clarke's fingers last just a little longer than was truly necessary before they parted ways. 

At first it looked like things might not go as well as they hoped, but slowly people began to trickle in, and then the trickle turned into a steady stream. Curious as to what had turned the tide, so to speak, Lexa traced the line back to the door. Outside, she found her team in their ragged uniforms, manning a table where they were serving cider and donuts – free of charge – to the students and parents arriving for the football game to take a "shortcut" through the building to get out to the field. 

"It's not _not_ a shortcut!" Madi said, before Lexa could say anything. "Anyway, wasn't the point of having it on a Friday night to get the football crowd?"

"It was," Lexa said. "I didn't come out here to yell at you. I just wanted to see what had gotten people to suddenly redirect themselves." 

"Free food," Madi said. "And no, we didn't ask perm—"

"I think it best that you don't finish that sentence in the presence of your coach, don't you?" Lexa said.

"Oh. Right." Madi flashed a grin. "I just hope that people actually buy stuff."

"I think they will," Lexa said. "I'm going to go back in and check on things. Try to stay out of trouble."

"Don't worry, we won't," Madi said, sending a wave of giggles through the girls. 

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Lexa said, and went back in. 

She probably should have spent the time schmoozing with the parents that wandered through, convincing them of how good a cause the money was going to, and she did some of that, but she kept getting distracted by watching Clarke charm anyone and everyone. 

Once the game started, they area cleared out, but they had a few people who got distracted on their way to or from the bathrooms, and another surge of visitors during halftime. After that they closed up shop, opening the boxes that had been placed under each work for people to write their names and bids on. It took the rest of the game for them to get through everything, in part because Clarke wouldn't actually let her do any of it. Instead, she had her carefully wrapping all of the pieces so that they could be transported home by the winners safely. 

"If you would just—" Lexa started, when she saw Clarke scowling down at a pile of paper scraps in front of her, but she didn't get to finish.

"No," Clarke said. "I don't want you to know."

"Fine," Lexa said, going back to laying parchment over a pencil sketch before sliding it into a cardboard sleeve to keep it from getting bent. As it was, Clarke's divide and conquer strategy ended up working out, because they both finished not long before the game ended with a decisive victory for their team. 

People came pouring in, many of them walking past, but others stopping at the table where they had everything prepared, and a list of the winners on a poster board behind them. Before they handed anything over, they checked ID to make sure it really was the winner (although who was going to try to steal a high school art project Lexa didn't know) and collected their money, which thankfully was mostly cash. Lexa tried to keep a tally in her head of what she heard people Clarke telling people, but she quickly lost track as she pulled the carefully labeled envelopes from the stack and handed them over. 

"When do I get to find out?" Lexa asked when everyone was gone. 

"Tomorrow after school," Clarke said. "Bring your team to my art room after practice."

* * *

Lexa ended up cutting practice short because the girls couldn't focus, no matter how many times she threatened them with having to do laps. She finally gave up (after making them run the threatened laps) and told them to pack it in and go change – quickly – because they had some business to attend to.

Their voices reverberated off the metal of the lockers as they made their way through the halls. When they got to the art wing, they were met by an equally loud cacophony of voices and music coming from the room where Clarke taught the majority of her classes. Lexa pushed the door open fully and stepped in, surprised to see so many people here.

"Come on in!" Clarke said, waving to her, and past her to the girls who crowded the door behind her. "We thought we would have a little bit of a party to celebrate. These are all of the students who donated art for the auction. Everyone, these are the members of the soccer team that your generosity is benefiting." 

The two groups were suddenly quiet, eying each other warily, until one of the girls from the art side crossed the invisible line and grabbed Madi's hand, tugging her over. Madi's cheeks flushed bright pink, but she grinned, and it broke the tension enough that the groups started to mingle. 

After the soccer girls had had a chance to grab food from the table where chips and cookies and all of the things that Lexa should probably tell them they should be eating in moderation, but she wasn't the health teacher and they got enough for that from basically everywhere else, Clarke spoke up again. "Now – the moment you've been waiting for," she said dramatically. She pulled out a check – not a giant fake one, just a plain old regular check – and held it out to Lexa. "I hope it's enough," she said and sounded genuinely concerned that it might not be.

Lexa looked at the dollar amount, blinking several times to make sure that her eyes hadn't blurred and made her read it wrong. It wasn't a huge amount in the grand scheme of things, but it was more than she had expected, or even hoped for.

It was enough. It was more than enough.

"It's enough," she said around the lump in her throat. "Thank you. Thank you all." She turned and smiled and held up the check even though no one could read it from a distance. "Girls, this is your year."

A raucous cheer went up, not just from the soccer team, but from the art students as well. They had accomplished what they set out to do and righted a wrong that the school hadn't even recognized as being wrong in the first place. 

"Furthermore," Lexa said, looking specifically at the artists, "you are all invited to our end of the year banquet, because this... this is amazing. We are finally going to look as awesome as we deserve to, and that's thanks to you. So when we're celebrating our win at States—" pause for another cheer "—we want you to be part of it." 

She hadn't actually discussed this with the team ahead of time, but from the looks on their faces, they were on board for pretty much anything at this point. She stepped back, tucking the check into her pocket, and slid her arm around Clarke's waist, pulling her against her side as the students turned their attention back to having a good time. 

"Thank you," she said softly, leaning down so that Clarke could hear her over the volume of several dozen teenagers all talking at once. 

"They deserve it," Clarke said, "and so do you. My victory felt hollow if you didn't get yours, too."

"Can I quote you on that later?" Lexa asked, the words out before she thought about them, and she glanced around quickly, making sure that none of the students were close enough to overhear. 

Clarke arched an eyebrow. "As if I need to be reminded?" 

"Never," Lexa admitted. 

"You'd do best to remember that," Clarke said, "or I might start forgetting on purpose."

"I consider myself warned," Lexa said. She looked at Clarke, and Clarke was grinning at her, and they already had their arms around each other... _In for a penny, in for a pound,_ she decided, leaning in. Clarke's lips met hers halfway, and it was as electric as their first kiss had been, maybe more.

The cheer from the kids – athletes and artists alike – was the loudest yet.


End file.
